Juiced
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: A new department policy has Doug concerned about his fitness. Adding to his stress is his latest case: busting up a high school steroid ring.
1. Chapter 1: The Letter

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.**

**Author's Note: New to _21 Jump Street, _just got Season 1 for my birthday. This story is set prior to the episode "Gotta Finish the Riff." It was originally planned as a one-shot, but I wrote so much I had to break it into chapters. Please read and review!**

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Officer Tom Hanson pulled his blue Mustang into a parking space close to the Jump Street chapel. He checked his watch: 6:30. That gave him about an hour to enjoy a cup of coffee and catch up on some paperwork. He looked up and noticed the lights in the loft were already on. He headed upstairs, figuring it had to be Judy or Captain Jenko. What he saw when he got to the loft was very unexpected: chronically late Doug Penhall. He was lying on the wooden floor, his reddened face dripping sweat as he did sit-ups.

"12...13...ugh...14...15," he grunted.

"Doug?" Tom said quizzically.

"16. What do you want, Hanson?" Doug asked, glaring at him.

He paused in his sit-ups, resting his elbows on his knees. He gritted his teeth against the stinging coming from his stomach muscles.

"Nothing," Tom shrugged. "It's just...different. You're here early and-"

"And what?" Doug's tone remained sharp. "I'm not stuffing my face?"

"Whoa, take it easy," said Tom, crossing the room and turning on the coffee pot. "I wasn't gonna say that at all. What's the matter with you?"

Doug sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Got a letter about a new department policy. They're makin' everyone redo their final academy physical test once a year."

"I didn't get a letter like that."

"Of course _you _didn't, fresh meat. You're, what, six months outta the academy?"

Tom didn't answer that. He hadn't been at Jump Street long, but he knew enough that silence was sometimes the best option when Doug was in one of his moods. The stocky officer was now toying with the silver Saint Michael medal he always wore.

"I'm gonna get stuck on desk duty for sure," he muttered.

"Don't say that. How long until you test anyway?"

"Friday."

"Oh." said Tom. It was Tuesday.

The two men turned their heads toward the sound of high heels clipping up the stairs, signaling the arrival of their lone female coworker. Tom sat at his desk and started filling out a report over the latest case he'd closed. Doug resumed his exercises, though drastically altered the count.

"45!" he said loudly. "46...ugh...47...48...49...ah...50." He triumphantly flopped onto his back.

"Good morning," Judy called cheerfully.

"Hey," Doug greeted from the floor, deciding this was more than enough exercise for the day.

She crossed into his line of sight, balancing a large pink box.

"Whatcha got there? More clothes?" asked Doug.

She shook her head. "Nah. I brought a little somethin' for everybody."

She set the box down on her desk and opened the lid.

"Hey! Doughnuts!" Tom said with a grin. He got up from his desk, seized a glazed from the box, and bit into it. "Mmmm, Judy, you shouldn't have. Thanks."

Doug groaned as he stood up. "Yeah, you _really _shouldn't have. I don't need that kinda temptation."

"Did you give up sugar for Lent or something?" Judy asked, delicately nibbling on a doughnut with strawberry frosting and sprinkles.

"Penhall has to retake his physical on Friday," Tom explained.

Judy was puzzled. "Retake it? Why?"

"New department policy," Doug answered grumpily.

At that moment, Captain Jenko made his usual grand entrance by sliding down the yellow and red striped fire pole.

"Mornin', my groovy cats and foxy chick," he said. "Ioki's out having a root canal done, so it's just you three today. Got a new case for ya, Doug. You should fit right in given what The Man's gonna put you through on Friday. Over at Southern High, four out of six seniors on the baseball team tested positive for steroids."

"They get expelled?" asked Tom.

"No, just suspended for a week and kicked off the team. They wouldn't flip on who's sellin' the dope. Principal suspects there may be more kids usin' that junk than he knows about. Doug, you're goin' in as a transfer second-string shortstop who's lookin' to get better in a big way with no waiting."

Doug nodded. He'd only been halfway listening to Jenko; he was preoccupied with attempting to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. He'd been eating sparingly since finding out his test date, hoping that he'd be better off if he dropped a couple pounds first. Jenko retrieved the doughnut box from Judy's desk and held it toward Doug.

"No, thanks, Jenko. Tryin' to keep this gut in check so I can pass the physical."

"Come on, brother. You know I don't like sendin' you kids to the schoolhouse without some kinda chow."

Doug sighed and put his hand into the box. He pulled out a chocolate doughnut that, like Judy's, was covered in sprinkles. He bit into it.

"Hey, Jenko, lemme have another one," said Tom.

Chewing slowly, Doug thought resentfully about how lucky the kid was to avoid retaking his physical, at least for now. Jenko dropped a file on his desk, which contained all the necessary background on his new undercover identity. He skimmed over it as he continued with his breakfast. Jenko checked the clock.

"All right, it's about that time," he said. "I'll catch you kids on the flip side."

Tom and Judy grabbed their backpacks. Doug hastily crammed the rest of the doughnut into his mouth, licked the chocolate icing off his fingers before picking up his file, then grabbed his own bag.


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome to Southern High

Doug drove over to Southern High School, parked in the student lot, and walked inside. The building was surprisingly bright and airy for a public school. The lockers and door trim were painted blue and orange. A huge poster beside the office with baseballs painted on it read simply: "Go Hawks." In the main office, Doug went through the usual motions of handing in his file to the secretary and receiving a class schedule and locker assignment.

'_Just another day at the office_,' Doug thought as he headed to his first-period class.

He spent the first three periods of the day getting to know the school's layout and the general vibe from the student body. Everyone in the little school, it seemed, was talking about the steroid scandal. The punishment the seniors had received was a topic of debate; some thought it was unfair of them to be benched when colleges were scouting and others felt that justice had been done. Doug went to the cafeteria at lunch to keep an ear out for more gossip, but opted not to go through the lunch line. He'd broken his diet already by eating doughnuts for breakfast and that greasy square pizza was definitely not a healthy option.

After the day's last bell rang, Doug went to his locker to collect his cleats and baseball mitt. Both items were battered from his days as a high school outfielder and playing in the department's summer softball league, but he wasn't about to give either thing up until he absolutely had to. He spotted a couple of other guys carrying mitts; he followed them first to the boys' locker room. Doug swapped his sneakers for cleats since he had yet to be issued a uniform.

Outside, he assembled on the field with the rest of his new teammates. The coach stood in the center of the circle, whistle around his neck and clipboard in hand. He began calling off names, but came to a screeching halt when he noticed Doug, clad in a cutoff sweatshirt with a T-shirt underneath it, tight jeans, and baseball spikes.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

Slipping into his usual tough-guy undercover persona, Doug hooked his thumbs into the beltloops of his jeans. "Doug Rose," he said. "I'm new."

"No kidding," muttered the kid next to him, eyeing Doug's long hair and earring.

"You got somethin' to say to me, ya little twig?" asked Doug.

"All right, all right, shut up," said the coach. "I'm Coach Gavin. You better adjust that attitude of yours, kid. It may work out for you when you're smackin' into other people at some punk concert, but it don't fly out here."

Doug was mildly impressed that the guy even knew what slam-dancing was.

"You ain't practicin' like that either," Coach Gavin went on. "Run on back to the locker room and grab yourself a spare uniform from the closet. Oh, and take that thing outta your ear too. No pierced ears on my team. Got me?"

"Yes, sir," Doug mumbled.

He walked back to the locker room and discovered the storage closet. When he opened it, he saw a disorganized mound of jerseys, caps, and baseball pants. He kicked off his cleats and stripped himself down to his T-shirt and underwear, tucking his earring into the back pocket of his jeans. Finding a jersey was simple enough, as the sizes were clearly printed on the tags. Pants, however, were another story. He couldn't find a waist size indicated on any of the pairs, so it became a matter of trial and error.

Roughly 20 minutes later, Doug jogged back to the field, where the rest of the team was still standing in a circle.

Coach Gavin gave him a tight, fake smile. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Rose. Okay, fellas, thanks to your new friend here, we're gonna run 10 laps around the field today. Not just the basepaths, the whole thing." He blew his whistle. "Let's go!"

Doug fell into the back of the line and started off at a trot, then moved faster.

'_Maybe this physical won't be too bad,_' he thought as he reached the halfway point of the first lap.

By lap four, however, his feelings were completely changed. He was breathing like an asthmatic and even the short guys were lapping him. He couldn't wait for practice to end...


	3. Chapter 3: Fighting in the Chapel

Some time later back at the chapel, Tom and Judy were engrossed in homework from their respective schools. Tom laid down his pencil and checked the clock.

"It's almost 5:30," he said. "I wonder what's keeping Penhall."

Judy shrugged. They both turned when they heard a moan coming from the stairwell.

"Speak of the devil," remarked Tom.

He put down his pencil, walked toward the stairs, and peeked over the rail. Doug was slowly making his way upstairs, muttering various curses under his breath. Tom thought a couple of them sounded like a foreign language.

"You all right?" Tom called.

"Yeah, just perfect!" Doug called back.

He could barely move his legs. Hell, he was having a hard time moving his arms too.

"I almost can't blame those kids for juicing up," said Doug as his head popped into view. "It's for survival. That coach over there, Gavin, he runs that team like they're the Marines." He limped across the room and dropped into his desk chair.

"That's good motivation to bust the supplier quick, isn't it?" asked Tom, returning to conjugating Spanish verbs.

Doug leaned forward onto the desktop, using his folded arms to pillow his throbbing head. "All the angels and saints," he groaned, "I'm hurtin'."

"And just think, you still gotta hit the books, Dougie," Tom taunted.

Doug abruptly sat up. "Why, you little freakin' weasel-" he started through gritted teeth.

"Hanson, knock it off," Judy said firmly. "Penhall doesn't rag on you when you've had a tough day."

"Yeah, he does. He does it all the time, in fact."

"Can't you see how worried he is about that test on Friday?"

"Uh, yeah, Judy, he made that pretty clear this morning."

"Hey! Quit talkin' about me like I'm not here," said Doug, his words slightly muffled because his head was back on the desk.

Judy raised her eyebrows. "Well, excuse me for tryin' to help you."

All three heads turned as one to the sound of a door opening. Captain Jenko had just come out of his office.

"I'm hearin' a lotta bad vibrations out here," he said. "What's going on?"

Judy spoke up first. "Penhall's tired. He had a long day and just got back. Hanson started teasing him about how Doug still has to do his homework-"

"And he called me a little freakin' weasel," Tom cut in. "That's totally uncalled for! Not to mention, I don't know, unprofessional!"

"Will you pipe down?" Doug snapped. "I got a headache over here."

Jenko sighed. Sometimes he felt like he was a principal with a particularly unruly bunch of students.

"Do we have to have a group meditation session?" he asked.

"No," Doug and Tom said quickly.

Neither of them were fans of that.

"That's what I thought," said Jenko.

"I'm sorry, Doug," Tom apologized.

Doug picked up his head and nodded to show he accepted the apology. He knew that the sooner he did at least some of his homework, the sooner he'd be able to go to bed, so he reached under his chair for his backpack. He took out his textbooks and notebooks, then reached into one of his desk drawers for a pencil. He found one, along with a shiny red apple. He took both items out, laying them next to his books and papers. He looked up and met Judy's gaze.

"Jude," he said quietly, "thanks for stickin' up for me."

She gave him a gentle smile. "No problem, Penhall. I know you got a lot on your mind."

Doug took a huge bite of the apple. "You can say that again," he mumbled through his mouthful.

He picked up his pencil and began working on algebra equations. He thought ruefully that he could probably teach any high school subject after this job.

By the time everyone completed their homework and debriefed Jenko, it was close to 10:00.

"Hey, Jenk," said Doug as his supervisor was pulling on his jacket to leave, "practice did a number on me today. I don't think I can drive home. Mind if I crash here tonight?"

"Not at all, kid. You can use the cot in my office."

"Thanks, Jenko, but it's okay. I sleep on my couch at home all the time."

The not-quite-ex-hippie shrugged. "Whatever turns your wheels, Doug. I'll see ya in the morning."

Once everyone had left the chapel, Doug started to make himself at home. He brought the wheeled TV cart out of Jenko's office and into the lounge. He plugged it in and pressed the 'power' button. A Mets/Yankees game immediately filled the screen. Doug groaned; the last thing he wanted to see right now was baseball. He changed to the next channel, which turned out to be showing a black-and-white monster movie.

Doug took off his shoes, stretched out on the couch, and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired. Or hungry. One lousy apple hadn't been nearly enough dinner. He forced himself to get up and search the chapel for food that wasn't contained in the pink box still on Judy's desk. He struck gold in the small community pantry: a partially-full box of Cheerios that Tom had undoubtedly left in there. He took the box back to the lounge and settled in for the movie, eating handfuls of cereal like it was popcorn. Exhaustion overtook Doug before he found out whether there really were werewolves living in the woods behind the mansion or if it was just the elderly caretaker's imagination.


	4. Chapter 4: Back to Normal

The sound of Tom's '68 Mustang pulling into the parking lot roused Doug from sleep early the next morning. He sat up, reflecting that his back didn't feel nearly as bad as he expected it to after spending the night on the chapel's lumpy couch. He yawned loudly and stretched, then trooped upstairs to the locker room. He retrieved the spare set of street clothes he always kept in his locker and headed for the showers. After cleaning himself up, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of one of the mirrors. While combing his hair, his gaze traveled to the scale in the far corner of the room.

'_Hmm,_' he thought, _'might as well see how the ol' diet's payin' off.'_

Meanwhile, Tom and Ioki were on their way upstairs. Tom was carrying a large paper bag.

"Thanksh for gibbon me a lift to work, Tom" said Ioki, mispronouncing some words due to the fact that his jaw was still swollen.

Tom shrugged. "Any time, Harry." He sat down at his desk and started taking things out of the bag. "Let's see...a cup of oatmeal for you, Harry."

"Mmm great," said Ioki without much enthusiasm. Oatmeal wasn't something he'd normally eat, but his mouth hurt too much to do a lot of chewing.

Tom laid a small square wrapped in waxed paper on his desk. "Coffee cake for me, muffins for Judy and Jenko when they get here, and-" A loud crash from upstairs made him stop in mid-sentence.

Ioki looked startled.

"WHAT THE HELL?" a familiar voice boomed.

"What'sh that?" asked Ioki.

Right about then, Doug slid down the fire pole. He looked equal parts furious and disheveled; it appeared he'd gotten dressed in a hurry.

"And good morning to you too, Douglas," Tom said lightly. "I thought we heard your dulcet tones."

A muscle in Doug's cheek twitched. Tom was saved from any impending violence by Judy's appearance at the top of the stairs.

"I heard this huge crash from the parking lot," she said, her expression concerned.

"That was me," Doug said in a voice that was all too calm. "I, uh, knocked over the scale in the bathroom."

"What for?" asked Ioki.

"What for?" Doug repeated angrily. "You really wanna know?"

Ioki nodded.

"I've been on a diet," Doug explained, deadly calm again. "I've been on a diet and I've only lost 2 pounds. That's right, 2. Looks like no breakfast for me _again._"

"But we got you a plain wheat bagel and a banana from the coffee shop," said Tom.

"Grrrrrreeeeeeaaaaaat," Doug growled like a depressed Tony the Tiger.

He sat down on the edge of his desk and started to peel the banana. The other officers exchanged looks; this certainly explained why Doug had been so irritable lately. Ioki and Tom got up to refill their coffee cups, leaving Judy and Doug alone. Maybe she'd be able to talk to Doug and calm him down.

"Penhall, when did you go on a diet?" asked Judy.

"Let's see...I found that letter about retakin' that damn physical in my mail on Friday night," Doug thought aloud. "So ballparkin' it, since I got up Saturday."

Tom couldn't resist putting his two cents in. "I hate to break it to you, Penhall, but that's only 5 days. Diets take a lot longer than that to work."

Doug rounded on Tom, who'd always been naturally slim. "How would _you _know?"

"Health class at my last school," Tom replied coolly.

Judy noticed now that Doug's face had paled a little; he'd been complaining of headaches for the past couple of days and looked tired. She couldn't remember seeing him eat much lately either. She put these pieces together and guessed that he hadn't been following a diet from a book or a magazine.

"Doug, listen to me," Judy said gently. She immediately had his attention, as it was fairly uncommon for her to address her coworkers by their first names. "You're never gonna pass that test if you keep starving yourself."

Doug sat there quietly, thinking over what Judy and Tom had just said. He winced as his stomach gave a huge rumble. He sidearmed the banana into his trash can.

"Hey, Jude, can you pass me that doughnut box?" he asked.

Judy took it off her desk. Doug eagerly lifted the lid, only to discover some sort of bugs had gotten into the pastries overnight. He dropped the doughnut box on top of the banana and pushed himself off the edge of the desk.

"I'm goin' out for some pancakes." he said. "Let Jenko know I might be late."

Doug headed down the stairs and out of the chapel, then started the three-block walk to the nearest diner. It was the breakfast rush, so he had to wait about 20 minutes for a seat at the counter to open up. He immediately ordered a stack of pancakes with a side of scrambled eggs and toast. Once the plate was in front of him, he smeared the pancakes with butter and drowned them in syrup. He picked up his silverware and eagerly dug in. The lightheadedness that had been nagging at him for days quickly began to dissipate once there was some food in his stomach. After polishing off every crumb, Doug paid his check and shoved a generous tip under his plate for the waitress.

By the time Doug got back to the chapel, he had to grab his backpack and head over to Southern High. He felt like his old self by the time he arrived at the school's front steps. He breezed through his first 3 classes and sat down for a lunch of corn dogs in the cafeteria, only mildly dreading practice that afternoon.


	5. Chapter 5: Making the Connection

At 3:15 sharp, Doug and the rest of the baseball team assembled on the field. Coach Gavin paced back and forth in front of his team.

"All right, listen up," he said. "As most of you should already know, our next game, Saturday's game, is against Central. An' I don't want you guys to just beat 'em; I want you to send 'em cryin' home, tails tucked between their legs!"

Most of the team whistled or cheered at this. Doug surmised that Central was their biggest rival.

"Saturday is also Senior Night an' we're short four," Coach Gavin went on, causing the players to fall silent. "It ain't right that they won't be honored. You younger guys really gotta step up to the plate if you want one o' those four starting spots. 'Cause what I've seen outta you ain't even worthy of JV. In fact, my kid plays better in Little League." He blew his whistle. "You know the drill! Ten laps around the field!"

Doug purposely fell into the back of the line, barely moving at a trot. His plan was to perform terribly at practice without making it too obvious that he wasn't really trying, get angry when the coach chewed him out, and then see who crawled out of the woodwork offering help in the form of injectable chemicals. After laps, Coach Gavin started fielding drills, rotating every player through every position. He shook his head in disgust as a couple of Doug's throws came up short. The next item on Coach Gavin's agenda was batting practice.

Doug gave his teammates a cocky grin. "Watch this," he said.

He stepped into the batter's box and assumed his batting stance. The skinny kid who was pitching threw a slowball, which Doug almost knocked out of the park.

"Not bad," grunted Coach Gavin. "But that shoulda been a homer."

A few at-bats later, Doug figured it was time to underperform. He didn't shift his whole body weight forward as he stepped into the fastball thrown by the star pitcher. The ball sailed low over the pitcher's head and was fumbled by the shortstop; had this been a real game, Doug's best-case scenario would've been getting a single. Coach Gavin looked disgustedly at him, tossed his baseball cap into the dirt, and ran his fingers through his hair. Doug hoped batting practice would be over soon because he didn't think he could swing like that again; it went against everything he'd ever been taught about playing baseball.

Practice ended that day with another ten laps around the field. Again, Doug was bringing up the rear of the back.

"Move your fat ass, Rose!" spat Coach Gavin as Doug neared him.

Doug saw red and not just for the sake of maintaining his cover either. "What the hell was that you said?" he shouted. Doug took a step closer to the coach. "Say that again!" he said as loudly as possible.

The rest of the team heard the yelling and stopped dead in their tracks to see what was happening. Some moved forward for a better view.

"You are a fat-ass, Rose," said Coach Gavin calmly.

Doug lunged at the coach, but was halted by his teammates. Javier, the catcher who came up to about Doug's armpit, caught Doug across the chest with his catcher's mitt; his other hand grabbed a fistful of Doug's jersey at rib level. Rudy, the tallest pitcher on the team, held onto Doug's collar.

Coach Gavin let out a breath through his nose. "I should tell you to get the hell off my team," he said to Doug. "But you know what? I'm feeling generous today. You all get to run five more laps. And, Rose, if you pull another stunt like that again, you're finished. No more baseball and a seat outside the principal's office."

Every muscle in Doug's body was aching as he dragged himself back to the locker room. He was still incensed by what Coach Gavin had called him and decided to make a show of it. He walked to his locker, which was close to Javier's.

"Fat-ass," Doug muttered darkly as he unbuttoned his sweaty jersey. "I'll show that guy. My fat ass could snap him right in half. Freakin' coach from hell."

He tossed his jersey into the locker and slammed the door shut.

"Hey, man, don't take it so hard," said Javier. "Coach is a little crazy, but he knows his stuff. We won the state title two years ago 'cause of him."

"A _little _crazy? He's freakin' nuts."

Doug walked off in the direction of the showers. When he emerged clean and dressed, somebody was waiting for him. It was Tim, the extremely muscular starting shortstop. Doug knew he was one of the two seniors who hadn't been kicked off the team for using steroids.

"Still worked up about what Coach said?" asked Tim.

"No, not at all," Doug said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He sighed and added sadly, "Sixteen years old and I'm already losin' my edge. I was the best player on the team back at Roosevelt. Now I suck. What am I gonna do if I play like this next year when the college scouts start comin' around?"

Tim put a friendly arm around Doug's shoulders. "I think you got real potential, Doug. You just need a little..." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "A little somethin' extra."

Doug snorted. "Like more batting practice? You sound like my old man."

"Relax, Doug, I'm trying to help you," said Tim. He dropped his voice. "And I don't mean you need practice either. Just somethin' to put the edge back. Now I can't get it to you today 'cause I gotta go take my girlfriend to the movies. But meet me here at 3:00 tomorrow and I'll get you taken care of."

"3:00 tomorrow. Gotcha." said Doug.

Doug concealed his excitement as he grabbed his backpack and left the school. He hadn't expected the case to break this quickly. He grinned to himself, proud of his undercover expertise. The next afternoon, Doug would have that creep right where he wanted him: handcuffed in the backseat of a black-and-white.


	6. Chapter 6: The Bust

Doug was whistling merrily as he sauntered into the chapel for debriefing, a Rocket Dog fast food bag in one hand and his backpack in the other. He sat in his desk chair and propped his feet up.

"You're in a good mood," Judy observed.

Doug nodded as he bit into his chili dog. "Uh-huh, 'cause I'm awesome." he said through his mouthful.

"What'd you do now?" asked Ioki.

"All right, kiddos," Jenko interrupted, emerging from his office. He dragged a wooden chair to the center of the room and sat in it the wrong way, resting his crossed arms on the back. "Tell me what went down at the schoolhouse today."

Doug was still chewing. He held up a finger in the universal sign for "wait just a second." He finished what he had in his mouth, took a long swig of soda from the Super Big Gulp on his desk, and cleared his throat.

"Well, Jenk, I met Southern High's steroid kingpin and I'm real close to busting him," said Doug, grinning smugly.

"How close is 'real close'?" asked Tom.

"It's this kid Tim, see?" Doug began. "One of only two seniors on the whole team didn't pop positive on that drug test, but he ain't no angel. I tanked a few plays on purpose in practice, only it _looked _like an accident. So I went back to the locker room, did the 'O woe is me' routine, and out comes our friendly neighborhood shortstop. Says he's got somethin' that can gimme my edge back, but he didn't have any on him. So we agreed to meet up tomorrow at 3:00 in the boys' locker room."

"As opposed to the girls' locker room?" Judy teased.

"Nice work, Penhall," praised Jenko. "You need anything from my end of things?"

"Maybe 200 bucks or so," said Doug. "Just enough to flash where Tim thinks everything's for real."

Jenko scribbled on his notepad. "You got it, kid. Now get outta here and get some sleep. You haven't looked too good the last few days."

Doug didn't need telling twice. He jumped out of his chair, bid his coworkers good-bye, and left the chapel.  
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Doug went through what would be his last day at Southern High on auto-pilot, right up until 2:30. Just fifteen minutes left until school let out and half an hour before his scheduled meeting with Tim. His gut churned nervously; undercover operations were particularly tricky toward the end. A lot of things could go wrong. Doug hadn't had anything real nasty happen yet, but there was always that chance. When the last bell of the day rang, Doug plowed upstream through the kids exiting the school to reach the gym. As expected, Tim was hanging around outside the boys' locker room.

"Hey, man," Doug greeted.

"Hey," Tim said shortly.

"You got what I need?" Doug asked.

Tim shook his head.

"So you lied?" Doug rolled his eyes. "Perfect. You know what? Screw you."

Doug turned to walk away, but Tim grabbed him by the arm. "I don't have it, but I can take you to who does," the shortstop said quietly.

The undercover cop followed the kid past the locker room to a back hallway of the school. Doug felt excited about the impending bust and apprehensive about being taken to such a secluded location. They stopped in front of a door.

"You wait here," Tim ordered as he opened it and stepped inside. A few minutes later, he exited. "It's cool. You can go in."

"Hurry it up, I ain't got all day!" barked a voice Doug had come to know well over the past week.

Doug entered the room.

"Shut the door behind ya, kid!" ordered the same voice.

With a jolt, Doug realized he was in Coach Gavin's office.

"So," the coach said lightly. "Tim tells me you're interested in a little extra...help."

Doug wondered for a moment if Tim had been pretending he knew where to get steroids and ratted him out to the coach for showing interest in using them. This notion was dispelled about a minute later. Coach Gavin unlocked one of his desk drawers, slid it out, and set two things on the desktop: a syringe with a needle already attached and a vial of clear liquid.

"Uh...are you serious about that, Coach?" he asked.

"Depends," said Coach Gavin. "Are you serious about being the best?"

"Oh yeah, Coach," Doug said earnestly. "I'll do anything to get a scholarship."

"All righty then." The coach motioned to the syringe and vial. "It's yours, kid."

"For free?"

"Just 'cause you're a first-time customer."

Doug motioned to his arm. "Don't I need somethin' to, uh..."

"Are you kidding? Just use your belt."

"Actually, sir, I'd prefer to use handcuffs."

"What?"

Doug reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slim black wallet. He flicked it open, revealing his badge and police department ID card. "I'm Officer Doug Penhall. And you're under arrest for selling this junk to kids."

Panic stricken, Coach Gavin tried to make a run for it. Doug easily headed him off by pressing his full weight against the office door. He produced a pair of handcuffs that he'd hidden under his shirt at the small of his back. He restrained the coach with ease and jerked open the door. Doug read Gavin his Miranda rights as marched him down the hallway, toward the squad car waiting at the school's back door.


	7. Chapter 7: Interrogation

The squad car dropped Gavin off at the chapel. Doug immediately took him upstairs to the interrogation room and roughly sat him down in a chair.

"Can ya take me outta these cuffs, kid?" asked Gavin. "These things hurt, ya know."

"Don't call me 'kid.'" Doug said sharply. "And how do I know you're gonna behave yourself if I do?"

"Scout's honor," Gavin promised.

Doug stood for a moment, considering this. At 6'1" and close to 200 pounds, he dwarfed Gavin, who was probably 5'8" and 140 pounds at the most. He figured he could handle himself if the soon-to-be-ex-coach tried anything. Doug produced a handcuff key from his pocket and unlocked them. Gavin brought his hands out from behind his back and made a show of rubbing his wrists.

"You woulda had to cut me loose sooner or later," he said with a self-satisfied smirk. "You got nothin' on me."

"I got nothin', huh?" said Doug. "You're right. I got nothin' other than proof than you've been sellin' steroids to half the baseball team."

Gavin shook his head. "Wrong. You got me on possession, maybe, but that's it."

"Oh, and how do you figure that, smart guy?"

"See, to bust me for dealing, you gotta make a buy or catch me selling," Gavin began.

Doug put both hands on the tabletop and leaned in close. "I _did _make a buy."

"Wrong. I _gave _you that vial. Didn't charge you a dime." Gavin grinned again. "I'm gonna walk, Dougie." As an afterthought, he said, "If that's even your real name."

"Never mind what my name is. You're not goin' anywhere." Doug's voice dropped an octave. "I can't even believe you. Do you even know what those drugs are doing to those guys right now, not to mention what's comin' a few years down the road?"

"Those guys are gonna be thanking me in 5 years for givin' them the goods to go pro. They'd all be _nothing_ without _me!_"

Unexpectedly, Gavin's hands shot up and seized the front of Doug's denim jacket. He tried to shove Doug away from him, but Doug stood his ground. He figured the smaller man would eventually tire and give up. What happened next took Doug completely by surprise. Gavin pulled one hand off Doug's jacket, curled it into a fist, and drew it back; it was the hand on which the coach wore his state championship ring. Doug felt his bottom lip open upon impact. A brief wrestling match ensued, but Gavin wasn't a match for someone trained in hand-to-hand combat. He soon found himself back in the chair and handcuffed.

"You're sure not gettin' outta here now," said Doug. "That's assaulting a police officer."

He could feel blood dripping down his chin and stepped out of the interrogation room. Judy took one look at Doug and passed him a tissue from her purse.

"Whoa, my man," said Jenko. "What happened to you?"

Doug jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the interrogation room door.

"I was about to come and find you," Jenko went on. "Narcotics went through Gavin's desk. Found at least 20 more vials of that testosterone he gave to you, plus some other goodies like needles and bottles of amphetamine pills. All black-market stuff. How much he charge you for that dose?"

"Uh, ya see, Jenk, that's the thing." said Doug. "He sorta...pretty much gave it to me. For free."

Jenko let out a breath through his nose. "Dammit."

"I'm sorry, Jenk."

"Ah, don't be too sorry, Dougie," said Jenko. "We may not be able to charge him with dealing, but that corner drugstore in his desk gives us a nice case for possession with intent." He gestured toward Doug's lip and asked, "You gonna press charges over that?"

"Hell yeah, Jenk, what do you think?"

Jenko smiled warmly. "Good. Assaulting a cop should give him another year or two in the big house." He patted Doug's shoulder. "You did a terrific job, Penhall."

"Getting punched?" he asked dumbly.

"No," Jenko chuckled. "With the case. Takes some real talent to bust open a case like this so quick. You're a good cop, Doug."

"Thanks, Jenko."

"Listen, I know you got that test tomorrow, so I'm gonna give you the day off. Type up those reports real quick so we can keep ol' Gavin in lockup over the weekend, all right?"

Doug nodded, went to his desk, and got to work. About an hour later, he'd added his incident reports to the case file and dropped it on Jenko's desk. Jenko picked up the folder and started to skim through it.

"Everything looks hunky-dory to me," the captain declared. "Good luck tomorrow, Penhall. I'll see ya on Monday."

_'I sure hope you will,' _Doug thought as he left the chapel.


	8. Chapter 8: Moment of Truth

**A/N: Welcome to the final chapter! (Which, by the way, turned out a lot longer than planned). Thanks so much to everyone who's read, reviewed, and enjoyed my first _21 Jump Street _fic :)**

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At 9 AM sharp, Doug arrived at the Metropolitan Police Academy obstacle course for his physical. He was wearing what was specified in the letter: his academy sweatsuit and running shoes. No jewelry was allowed, so his Saint Michael medal was tucked safely into one of his sneakers. He almost never went anywhere without that necklace. He stretched nervously as he waited in line to check in. Much to his embarrassment, he had to be weighed in front everyone because the test required him to bench 60% of his body weight. He was briefed on what the test would entail, then told to stand in line to wait for his turn.

The officers were taking the test in alphabetical order, which meant Doug was stuck near the back of the line. He tried not to let his anxiety show in his face or body language as he took notice of the three ambulances parked around the course. A female paramedic was sitting on the tailboard of one, keeping a close eye on the proceedings. She was baby-faced and very petite, her dark blond hair held up by a plastic clip. She had a stethoscope wrapped across her shoulders and her uniform shirt appeared to be quite stiff. Doug guessed that either someone had used too much starch at the cleaners or she hadn't been doing the job for very long.

There was nothing for Doug to do now but watch other people run through the course. Doug became increasingly disquieted as a number of walking wounded staggered off the course and toward the waiting ambulances. The temperature climbed higher. All too soon, one of the academy's PT instructors was shouting: "Douglas Penhall! You're up!" Doug approached the man, who lead him to the test's first station: the bench press.

'_At least I get to start with something easy,' _Doug thought. He'd always had pretty good upper-body strength.

After easily benching the required amount of weight, Doug moved on to the push-up test and then he easily dragged the obstacle course's heavy, life-sized dummy 100 feet.

'_Piece of cake,_' Doug said inwardly as he scaled the 6-foot high wooden wall.

He belly-crawled through a tunnel composed of chain-link fencing, only snagging his sweatshirt on it once. He jumped through a simulated window, did pull-ups, and crossed a set of monkey bars. The last task of the obstacle course was the sit-up test. Doug was barely 30 seconds into it when his abdominal muscles began screaming in pain; he decided that not eating breakfast had been a smart choice.

"All right, Penhall," the instructor said when Doug was finished, "you passed the obstacle course." He walked Doug to the track that was near the course entrance. "The last portion of your physical is the run. It's a quarter-mile track, so that means 6 laps equals a mile-and-a-half. You got 15 minutes starting..." He clicked his stopwatch. "Now."

Without further ado, Doug broke into a sprint. He was able to keep up that pace for about the first two laps, then he substantially slowed down. He was sweating profusely. He couldn't decide whether his calves or thighs hurt more. He jogged lightly, trying to massage a painful stitch out of his side. Doug was inwardly panicked because he wasn't sure how much time was left to finish the run. He put on another burst of speed as he rounded the next curve and maintained it throughout his next laps. Finally, the instructor signaled for him to stop.

"Three minutes to spare," said the man as he scribbled on his clipboard. "You're cleared for duty, Penhall. See ya next year."

Doug nodded, struggling to catch his breath. He felt terrible as he came off the track. His arms, legs, and the muscles in his stomach kept cramping sharply; he was dizzy and exhausted. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He felt nauseated and retreated to a semi-private spot near the ambulance. He doubled over, but instead of throwing up, he only managed to dry-heave painfully.

"Do you need some help?" said a soft female voice behind him.

He didn't answer right away because he was still retching. "Yeah," said Doug when he was finally able to stop. His legs were shaking now.

The paramedic stepped to the side of Doug and ducked underneath his arm. He recognized her as the very young one who'd been perched on the back bumper. She grabbed the back of his sweatshirt with one hand and held the other in front of him at roughly his chest level.

"Come on, just lean on me," she said. "You're not gonna fall."

Doug, sick as he was feeling, hesitated a little. He probably weighed twice as much as this woman and he didn't want to hurt her. But other than being miserable, what choice did he have? Slowly, he and the medic made their way over to the ambulance. A male paramedic approached them.

"Hey," he said tensely, "somebody slipped off that climbing wall. Looks like a possible broken leg, maybe a wrist too. They need some extra hands. Think you can handle this guy by yourself, rook?"

"Yeah, I got him," said the woman, grunting a little under Doug's weight. She helped him up into the back of the ambulance. "What's your first name?" she asked, sitting him down on the gurney.

"Doug."

"Okay, Doug, I'm Sandy. Can you tell me where you are?"

"Parris Island?" Doug guessed.

'_Sitting up should not be this hard,' _he thought, feeling rivers of sweat trickling down his face and back.

Sandy pushed up Doug's sleeve so she could check his pulse; it was fast and weak. His face was pale. He was breathing shallowly. Those two things, added to the rest of the symptoms she'd observed and the weather, spelled heat exhaustion. She knew she had to work quickly on cooling him down before he had a heatstroke.

"Doug, it's too hot to be wearing that sweatsuit." she said as she pulled the doors shut. "Do you think you can get it off by yourself?"

He shook his head. Sandy pulled a pair of scissors from one of the pockets in her uniform pants and knelt next to Doug. She took the wet fabric into her hands and began to cut it with quick, efficient snips. Doug's sweatshirt fell away. Somewhere in his clouded mind, he was grateful for deciding to wear gym shorts under the sweatpants. Once the excess clothes were in a heap on the floor, Sandy removed her stethoscope from around her neck so she could listen to Doug's heart and lungs.

"I'm not feelin' so good right now," said Doug.

"I know." Sandy's tone was sympathetic. "But don't worry, you're in good hands. Take a deep breath for me."

After listening to his chest, Sandy took Doug's blood pressure, draped the stethoscope around her again, and began making notes of something on a clipboard.

"Your vitals are a little high but stable," she reported. "Do you know where you are?"

"In an ambulance?"

"Do you have any allergies, prescriptions, or medical problems?" she asked.

"Nope. I've always been pretty healthy."

"All right. Did you start seeing black spots at any point when you were outside?"

"Yeah, a few."

"You split that lip on the course?"

"Nah, that was yesterday."

Sandy flipped open the lid of a cooler that was sitting near her legs and pulled out a medium-sized plastic bag filled with ice.

"Here," she said, passing it to Doug. "Put that on the back of your neck."

Doug did as he was told.

"Is the ice helping?" Sandy inquired after several minutes.

He nodded. The fog in his head had cleared up enough that he could more fully appreciate being taken care of by a pretty girl. He wasn't sweating as much either.

"Do you think you can keep some fluids down?" asked Sandy.

"I dunno."

"You have two options, Doug. I can try giving you something to drink or I can start a line on you right now."

Doug recalled from watching re-runs of _Emergency! _that "starting a line" involved sticking him with a needle. He didn't exactly have a phobia regarding needles, but they were still something he'd prefer to avoid if possible.

"I could use a drink, so make it a strong one," Doug teased.

Sandy took a bottle of Gatorade from the cooler and grabbed a small paper Dixie cup from a cabinet. She filled the cup almost to the top, then handed it to Doug. He winked at her as he raised the cup, threw his head back, and drained it. The ice-cold liquid hit his stomach hard, causing him to begin retching again. Sandy retrieved a wastebasket from the driver's compartment and set it in front of her patient. Doug didn't vomit, though not from lack of trying. Sandy held out her hand for the paper cup. Doug gave it to her.

"I feel worse now," he groaned once the nausea subsided a little.

"Well, you technically kept it down, which is a good sign," said Sandy, pouring more Gatorade into the cup. She passed the sports drink over to him. "Sip it this time," she warned. "You're not doing shots at the bar."

Doug nodded, grinning sheepishly. He drank the next cup much more slowly.

"Can I buy the lady a round?" he offered when he was done.

Sandy chuckled. "Thanks, but I'm covered." She reached into the cooler and pulled out a can of Sprite. Cracking it open, she said, "One more question I have to ask, Doug. When was the last time you ate anything?"

"Last night."

Sandy pulled out a drawer, extracting from it two individual of packets of saltine crackers. Doug accepted them, opened a pack, and gingerly took a bite of cracker.

"No wonder you were feeling so terrible," said Sandy. "Your blood sugar probably bottomed out on top of everything else."

"So can I go now?" Doug asked after finishing all the crackers. Being in the back of the ambulance was starting to make him claustrophobic.

"Protocol says you have to drink the rest of this first," Sandy informed him, holding up the Gatorade bottle.

"Okay, but...uh...can you open those doors?"

"I have to make sure you stay cool and that's keeping the air-conditioning in."

"Please?" Doug's tone grew anxious. His hands were shaking. "Just-just crack 'em a little. I got this thing-"

Sandy walked to the doors and pushed them slightly ajar. The last thing she needed was someone having a panic attack in the back of her bus when she didn't have a partner to help her out. Doug instantly calmed down once he could see outside. Time passed in relative silence as Doug worked on the Gatorade, save for the gentle scratching of Sandy's pen on her clipboard. The sound of the bottle dropping into the trash can brought her out of her reverie. Doug lifted his right foot out of his shoe enough so he could retrieve his medal.

"Am I okay to leave?" Doug asked, slipping the silver chain over his head.

Sandy double-checked his vital signs. They were normal again and some color had returned to his cheeks.

"Yeah, you should be fine," she confirmed. "You just have to sign this transport refusal form."

Doug skimmed it before scrawling his name at the bottom. Being Doug Penhall, he couldn't resist a little more flirting. "So later on, if I start feelin' worse, I can just call you to take care of me, right?"

"Yep. My number's on the back of the bus." Off his confused look, she added, "911."

Doug laughed. "Good one." He stood up and climbed out of the ambulance. "You take care of yourself, Sandy."

"You too, Doug. Hope you at least passed your physical after all this."

Doug gave her his famous Penhall smile before heading to the parking lot.  
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Even though he had the day off, Doug went to the chapel to report in to Jenko. He leaned against the doorjamb of the captain's office.

"What's up, Penhall?" asked Jenko.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm fit for duty, Jenk."

"Groovy!" Jenko cheered. He jumped out from behind his desk and clapped the stocky officer on the shoulder. "Far out, man. I didn't know what I was gonna do if you had to go. What it was gonna to do to Judy and Harry and that new kid Tom. I think he really looks up to you, man."

"I doubt he'd admit to it," said Doug.

Jenko checked his watch. "Well, it's about time for lunch, Doug. Whaddaya say to a couple Rocket Dogs on me?"

Doug pretended to think it over. "I'd say if you're buyin', throw in a side of cheese fries and some ice cream."

Jenko snickered. "You're a trip and a half, Penhall."

They headed out of Jenko's office and downstairs. Jenko drove them to the restaurant in his VW Bus. Once they placed their orders, Doug started drumming his fingers impatiently on the countertop.

"Does this mean you're finally off that diet kick?" questioned Jenko.

"You know about that?"

"Yeah," he said. "Jude came to my office a few days ago and said she was worried about ya, man. I wasn't plannin' on sayin' anything 'cause I saw you with that chili dog, but, y'know, I wanted to make sure everything's cool. Think you scared poor Jude a little."

"Yeah, I know," Doug mumbled guiltily. "I'm sorry, Jenk. I didn't mean to. I was just worked up about this test and thought I could do better if I was...y'know...skinnier."

"Lemme tell ya somethin', Doug," Jenko began. "We're a team and you guys all got positions, just like in football. Judy, she's the brains. New guy's the walking rulebook. Harry's quick on his feet. You're the muscle. I need you to keep up your strength 'cause you're the one I depend on in case somethin' goes wrong. I know you can handle yourself and you'll do whatever it takes to get Tom, Judy, or Harry outta harm's way. Ya dig?"

Doug nodded. "Yeah. I, uh, I never knew you felt that way about me, Jenk."

"You guys are like kids to me and we all have each other's backs. That's what makes Jump Street work..." Jenko trailed off, noticing the waitress coming out of the kitchen and toward the table. "Hold that thought. Order's up, Dougie."

"And just in time. I'm starvin'."

The waitress set down their orders and the two cops got down to the serious business of enjoying their lunch.

THE END


End file.
